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Who: Higgins, Johnston, Rothschild, Dangerfield, Josephine, Kathleen, Hicks, Pat
Where: In the air in the Marne area, above the village Opieds
When: April 30, 2006
What: A reconnaisance mission to provide pictures and information for the upcoming push by the USMC.

Airfield

A hardpacked road winds its way off in the distance. It's large enough to allow two vehicles to pass each other on it as long as there's nobody turning a corner sharply. Mostly used by horses and wagons, it has lately seen much other traffic in the form of trucks and the road is beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
It is currently daytime.

Hicks fixes the truck, slaving away.

Dangerfield still has a lightly sore arm but nothing that'll keep him out of the air any longer. He's carefully rolling it as he walks towards the airfield. He knows there's a recon mission and he's pushed for Rothschild to take up the spotter position, as they need a marine for it and he remembers his promise to the American marine.

Rothschild jogs toward the airfield, a boyish spring in his long-legged step and hints of a grin on his lean face. He was more than happy to take the spotter position for this mission. Hell, he literally jumped at the chane for it. "Good morning, sir," he calls to Dangerfield, falling into step with the pilot. He glances at the man's arm with some concern. "You sure you're okay to go back into action?"

Dangerfield has a pair of spare goggles which he now tosses towards Rothschild. "Absolutely sure, Rothschild," he says and gives the marine a broad, confident smile. He points at the Bristol the two are about to ascend in. "See the gun at the back there? We get approached by the Hun, you man that one and I'll fly right by with you shooting them up as we've passed." He pauses. "Or, if they tail us."

A hardpacked road winds its way off in the distance. It's large enough to allow two vehicles to pass each other on it as long as there's nobody turning a corner sharply. Mostly used by horses and wagons, it has lately seen much other traffic in the form of trucks and the road is beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
It is currently daytime.

Squadron Leader Wade lurks by the improvised pilot barracks. Well, he was lurking, that changes, as he strides over to Dangerfield. "Got new orders, pilot. An offensive is planned. The Americans are wanting us to provide some reconnaisance for them before they go over the top tomorrow."

Rothschild catches the goggles, that boyish grin of his growing at he puts them on his head. "Thanks," he says, looking over at the tail gun. It's the plane as a whole he stares at more than anything else, really. But he's able to scale back his awe at the flying machine enough to focus on the gun itself. "I've never really handled one of those things before. Never had much bigger than a rifle put in my hands. But I can give it a go." He tries to sound confident, though he can't match Dangerfield's brashness. He falls quiet when the Squad Leader starts jawing.

Dangerfield comes to attention and salutes the Squad Leader. "An offensive? Wonderful news," he says, quite dead pan. He isn't sarcastic about it either, just matter of fact. "Well, we're quite prepared for it. This is Rothschild of the US Marines, he's volunteered for spotting duty."

Higgins is a little late to the party, tugging on his leather flying jacket. He hurries up to where the others are, and offers a stiff salute to the leader.

Wade glances over the marine with mild irritation, but then goes back to Danger. "So, get yourself an observer, and maybe a wingman, and up you go. There is a village, Opieds? However the hell you pronounce that. A short ways beyond the front. And beyond that is a small river, the Ource. I have orders to provide recon of both of those locations. They are fairly close to one another, so it shouldn't be too long a trip."

Rothschild stands at attention under Wade's glance, doing his best to look respectful. And competent. Some of his eagerness to get up in that newfangled flying machine is being tempered with seriousness as the mission is discussed.

"I'll be sure to check the maps closely before we go," Dangerfield says with a curt nod at the squad leader. He wipes that dandyish somewhat foppish behaviour off rather easily when he has to, so it's clear it's mostly an act. He glances at Higgins. "Wingman, Higgins?"

Wade nods. "Well, you're no rookie, Dangerfield, so get to it. A small flight should be best, in, take the pictures, and out. It needs to be done yesterday as well, of course." he adds drily, before turning aside and slipping back to his dugout.

"Absolutely," Higgins replies with a calm nod. He casts a curious glance toward Rothschild then back to Dangerfield. He watches Wade depart, offering a parting salute to the leader, and then asks, "You're taking the Yank bloke up as your observer?"

Rothschild offers a quick nod and grin to Higgins. "The brass wants to get as much information out of this mission as they can," he says. "I've done quite a bit of mapping on the ground in the woods here, since Jerry's been cleared out of the woods, and I can work a camera." And he wasn't about to pass up the chance to get up in the air.

Dangerfield might not be a rookie any longer but he's hardly an experienced pilot yet. "Yes, Sir," he gets out before Wade leaves. He turns to the other two, grinning lopsidedly. "Alright, you heard him. I'll hurry and go get the maps, then be right back and off we go. You could take Hicks are a tailgunner, Higgins, if he's free." He's already on the move to get the maps, calling over his shoulder at Roth as he goes. "Don't wear the goggles once we're up, they'll only make things worse. I just thought you'd want a pair."

"Sounds like you're the man for the job, then," Higgins says amiably, offering Rothschild a hand. He then nods to Dangerfield. "I'll go see if he's about." He goes off in search of the airman, checking by the maintenance area. "Hicks!"

Rothschild takes Higgins' hand, giving it a quick, friendly shake before the pilot heads off in seach of Hicks. He looks a little puzzled at Dangerfield's advice about the goggles, but he just nods. He's the expert. "Anything else I should know?" he asks, giving the plane a long look.

Higgins shouts about for Hicks for a minute, but - failing to find him - tries to rustle up another fellow to be his tailgunner.

"Uh… bring a bag in case you need to puke?" Dangerfield suggests with a grin, before he ducks into one of the barracks to procure what map there is of the area. He's not long gone before returning with one, holding it up to look over even as he walks back towards the plane. "Alright, let's get going! Rothschild, you can direct us up there, though I know in which direction we're going at least." Isn't that good news. He begins to climb into the pilot's seat.

Johnston is only a few paces behind the last man to arrive, moving over to the fellow looking for Hicks. "Been told you're lookin' for a replacement, guv. I'm yer man."

Rothschild laughs at Dangerfield's advice. He's a Marine. They have cast-iron stomaches, lined with barbed wire. But he does take a bag offered by a mechanic he passes while climbing into the plane. He gets himself into the observer's seat, with only some difficulty. "That's a start, at least," he replies wryly to Dangerfield's last remark.

Dangerfield begins to prep the plane for takeoff, checking things over. But it's not like there's much he can check so that doesn't take long. "Oh, I believe in keeping things simple. Quite un-English of me, that," he jokes. He glances over towards the other plane to see if they're about ready to leave. Then engine is started and he begins taxing off.

Rothschild gets himself into as secure a position as he can in observer's seat. The plane is less comfortable, and far more fragile-looking, than in his imagination. But he still retains his excitement as it starts to move. "I used to read stories about flying machines when I was a kid, back in Jersey," he calls up to Dangerfield. "Wells, Verne, all of that stuff. Never thought I'd actually be going up in one." He laughs.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins waits while the ground crew prep the propeller and then revs the engine. The Bristol soars up from the airfield. Higgins glances behind him to see Dangerfield's plane also taking off.

Dangerfield grins into the wind. "Hold on to something, because now you are going up in the air, like a big ugly and rather unlimber bird."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins falls into formation with the other Bristol, letting Dangerfield lead the way.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield keeps on climbing and is now at around 3000 feet already. He doesn't want to fly too low yet.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield begins to plane out at 4000 feet, and in doing so gains some speed.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild clenches a white-knuckle grip on his seat in the observer's spot as the plane unlimberly rises into the air. He didn't need to be told that bit. The speed and motion of the thing comes as a shock to him. Whatever he'd prepared himself for, it was nothing like the real thing. He swallows, a few shades paler than he was on the ground. It was probably a good idea to bring that bag.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield turns his head to look for Higgins and Johnston, and to give Rothschild a reassuring grin. Now that they're up, he removes his goggles and puts them somewhere safe. "You doing alright back there?"

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins is a little slower to climb than Dangerfield, and in his haste to catch up manages to push the engine a little too hard. "Bloody hell," he shouts as the plane stalls momentarily. He regains control soon enough, and nudges it up a little slower this time. "Sorry about that, mate," he calls over his shoulder to Johnston.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston grips the edge of his seat for a moment, before offering a tense smile to the back of Higgins' head. "Try an' get us down in one piece, aye?" he calls, aiming for bravado.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins grins back, though with his back to Johnston it's hard to tell. He levels off and sees that Dangerfield has gotten a bit out in front of him in the meantime. He increases the throttle.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild isn't in any position to return Dangerfield's grin. He's making good use of air sickness bag. He gets that business taken care of, taking a deep breath to get his stomach back under control. "Oh, swell!" he hollers to Dangerfield, tossing his goggles off. He focuses on the air outside the plane. That seems to help. As does having something to do with his hands, as he starts readying the camera. "Yeah. Just a second." Now that camera, he seems to know what to do with.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield flies as low as he dares under the circumstances, to allow as good photos as possible. He gets a bit too low for a bit and has to pull up rather sharply.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins enters into a slight dive to get closer to Dangerfield's altitude. He doesn't go down quite as low, however, since he's not taking pictures and wants a little extra distance should they get into a scrap.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild gets to his work, taking shots of the land around the village below them. "Wells never mentioned anything like this…" he mutters to himself as he photographs. A grin comes to his pale face as he takes those shots, though. This is one hell of an angle. He stops smiling when Dangerfield pulls up, clinging to the camera and trying to tighten every muscle of his body on his seat.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is heard lauhing a bit, as if he found that dangerous maneuver funny. "Woops!" he calls back. "Shouldn't fly this low really, or so they said in flight school! But if I listened to everything they said there, what fun would that be?" He points, as the village itself is practically right below. "I'll fly over it a few times and over the nearby areas."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins keeps his eyes peeled for enemy planes, but they're still a bit further back. "That's the village down there," he calls out, pointing for Johnston.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston looks over the side of the plane, giving a slight nod (which porbably can't be seen) to Higgins' commetn about the village. He looks for only a moment before returning his attention to the sky. It would be terrible to be caught unawares.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild laughs, but it's less a humorous sound than a desperate sort of bark. "Oh, yeah! Fun! Hell of a good time, up here!" And it just got even more fun. "Shit…!" he spits, moving to get a grip on the gun. But before he does any shooting, or any aiming, for that matter, he gets the camera into as safe a position as possible. "Wouldn't want to lose our pictures," he says to Dangerfield, with a weak grin.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield pushes the throttle forwards, giving more gas while beginning to climb once more. His head swivels back and forth to keep an eye on the enemy plane much higher up. "Albatross," he calls back.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins catches sight of something against the clouds, and blinks to make sure what it was. Then he calls to Johnston, "Huns sighted!" He starts to climb.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold looks down on the plane, but keeps flying on the same altitude.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins spots another Albatross, again at high altitude, and points.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston looks up, especially as Higgins begins to climb. His eyes narrow, and he adjusts his grip on his gun. "Time to dance…take the lead!" he calls to his pilot.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold puts down the nose straight against the ground

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins flies straight at the lower of the two Albatari. "Right, then, let's have at it." he mumbles as the range closes.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild doesn't react as much to Dangerfield's swiveling now. He's got too many things on his mind to be sick. "I see him!" he calls up to the pilot, getting a handle on the gun once he's seen to the camera. He fumbles with the thing, trying to learn how to handle it on the spot.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield climbs and climbs. "Another one!" he shouts back to Rothschild and points at it. He's doing a bit of circling, not wanting those planes right on his tail. He also looks around for Higgins and sees that he's not far away and also climbing. "We got a mission though; we need those photos."

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin is happy staying high-ish, and lo, one of the enemy is approaching rather fast.

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin vrooms right by one of them. The only one he can see as it happens.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild fires the gun when the German vrooms past him, hitting nothing but empty air. But at least he's figured out how to fire the thing.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is suddenly not seeing the two Albatrosses, having lost them from sight or flown away from them. He can't see his wingman either. "See them?" he shouts back to Rothschild.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins brings his plane around for another pass.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild suddenly blinks, squinting at the clouds around him. "I lost one of them," he says. "But I can still see the other. Looks like your friend is tusseling with him."

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold pulls up his plane, as there does not seem to be any way to hit anything yet. ….

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is now flying straight towards one of the German planes, on its tail. "See it!" he shouts back.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild shouts back, "I see it!" and gets his American paws on the gun.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield has both Germans in sight and is steadily pursuing them, but a bit far away to shoot.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins dances around with the one Albatross, unable to get a good shot.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins closes in on one of the planes.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is doing twists and turns in the sky, zooming past the Albatross only to turn around and do it all over.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild gives his head a shake, trying not to think about how high Dangerfield has taken the plane. Or what a long, long fall that would be to the ground. He keeps a handle on the gun, wrenching it ungracefully to shoot at the German plane.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins squeezes off another shot as he comes at the Albatross, but again it goes wide and they zoom past each other. He swears loudly. "Can't hit this bugger!"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is climbing rather steeply at the moment to get in touch with the Albatross up there.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold is mostly holding his fire, not happy with the shots provided yet, the Blue Max will be his in time, no use to rush things.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild takes a deep breath as Dangerfield climbs, muttering to himself in Hebrew. Might as well start praying while he's got the time.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold is climbing, twisting and turning, then he pulls the plane down into a steep dive to see if anyone has the guts to follow him.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield lets out a laugh. "He's got guts! He's diving. Hang on to something!" And he turns the nose of the plane down, not in as steep a dive as the German perhaps. But definitely steep enough.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold rolls his plane around before he starts to level out a little, having turned around 180 in the process

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild breaks off the Hebrew to bark "Shit!" when he sees the German pilot dive. And from then on, it's all good old English profanity.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold has once again performed his little split S, and he looks quite proud of himself.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield grins like a madman. His scarf is fluttering, lots. "What's that you yanks say? 'Yeeehaaaw?'" he shouts back, his voice almost not heard over the wind during the dive.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins glances up and sees that the other Albatross has closed altitude. He'll have to keep an eye on him, but mostly he's focused on the one in front of him.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild has to laugh when Dangerfield yells that. "There aren't any cowboys in Jersey, fly boy!" he yells. "But what the hell? Yeeeeehaaaaw!" It's more eloquent the just repeating 'Fuck, we're all going to die' over and over again.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins has the Albatross right in his sights, but again manages to miss. "Bloody hell, not again." He's going to have to yell at Hicks about these gun sights when he gets back.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold is looking over his shoulder to see if the Bristol follows him.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold pulls down on the throttle, waving to the pilot behind him, like daring him to come and play.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is flying faster than Arnold, and is slowly gaining. Seeing the wave, he grins and even throws off a salute in Arnold's direction.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild screams "Yeeehaaaaaw!!!" along with Dangerfield with desperate abandon, shaking his head, still having to laugh. This is insane. He sees the German pilot wave, and gives him an American salute to go with Dangerfield's British one. He might as well go out in style, if he's going to crash to a fiery death.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is a bit far away and he knows it, but he still squeezes off a shot, as if to let Arnold know he's close now.

<> Bristol Type 22 (#1751-Johnston) fires its 2x.303 at (1) but misses! (Accuracy 0)
(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold revs up a little when the bullets start to come again before pointing his plane towards the ground again.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins seems to notice that he and Dangerfield have gotten separated, and flies to rejoin his wingman.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield isn't late to follow, beginning a not very steep dive after Arnold.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold then pulls it up again, aiming straight for the sky instead

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold rolls around the plane when it's pointing straight up before leveling out

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold is getting too daring, the plane is about to stall

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield lets out an appreciate whistle. "That Hun is good!" he shouts back to Rothschild, something admiring in his voice. "But he's daring it now! Look at him!"

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold just manages to level out before it starts to stall, barely walking speed at first but it picks up quickly enough again.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins calls back to Johnston, "Let's have a go at this other one." Though it seems Dangerfield and Rothschild are having as much trouble as they did with the other one. It's a grand sight to see the two planes dogfighting as they get closer.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild yells out something incomprehensible as Dangerfield rolls. Probably profanity. Maybe even Yiddish profanity. The world will never know. He shoots, desperately, as the German pilot fires at them.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild actually manages to hit something with some of his desperate firing. But he doesn't have time to celebrate his blind luck. One of the German bullets slams him in the air, splattering blood on the aircraft gun. "Fuck!" he yells. "Dangerfield!? You okay?"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield gasps out, hit in the chest. He slumps over the seat for a moment. "I'm alive! But we should get the hell away now."

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold is spraying away when he's happy with the lineup before tossing off some shots on to the horizon for good measure.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild fires off another shot, but his arm is doing him no favors aiming the gun. "I'm not arguing," he calls to Dangerfield, as to getting the hell out of here. "I got the camera tucked in. Don't worry about that. I got some nice pictures of the area around that village."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins squeezes off a shot as he zooms past the Albatross, and grins as it appears to score a hit.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield swivels his head once more and sees that Arnold has met up with Higgins and Johnston. "See the river?" he shouts out, followed by a slight groan. "Can you handle the camera or should I take it?"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild struggles with the camera, but this is at least easier than handling the gun, trying to get some shots of the river below them. He grimaces. That smoke's going to do his photos no favors.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is now following the river, rather high still so he begins to descend.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins squeezes off another burst as he plays chicken with the Albatross again. He glances over and sees smoke, and feels a pang of pity for the poor bastard.

(From (#29) Albatross D.Va) Arnold dives for the ground, maybe opting to crash instead of going up in flames.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield sees one of the planes going down in smoke, or at least having to crashland. "Another one!" he shouts out. The one from before seems to have returned. He points insistantly and tries to get Higgins' attention.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston lifts his head as he sees the flames, and then offers a salute to the plane as it goes down.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins doesn't pursue the Albatross as it goes down trailing smoke. Doesn't quite seem sporting. Instead he scans the sky for Dangerfield's plane and flies over that way.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild sees the flames coming from the German plane. He can't be too happy about that, pictures of himself in that same situation suddenly flooding his head. He nods grimly when Dangerfield points out the other Albatross. Of course there's another one.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield has come to a rather fearful realization. "We might have to land too!" he shouts back to Rothschild. "I'm not sure we can make it back in this condition. If we have to land, I'll try to put her down as close to the lines as possible. And somewhere… discreet!" How the hell you land a plane discreetly, he doesn't tell.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins is easily able to gain ground on the badly damaged Bristol. "Blimey, looks like they've been hit badly," he comments to Johnston.

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin is still out there. And he's coming in.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield turns the plane about laboroously so Roth can take some more pictures on the way back.

<> (#29) Albatross D.Va has been destroyed!

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild concentrates on taking his pictures, still muttering under his breath. Hard to tell if he's praying or cursing again now. Whatever the case, he gets a fine shot of the Albatross as it crashes on the countryside below them. "Holy shit…!" he breathes.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins shakes his head grimly as the first Albatross goes down. "Nice job, mate!" he calls back. But then he seems to notice the other one. He banks to meet it.

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin is head to head

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin !

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield stares in some awe. "Did you take a picture of that?! You could sell it for a fortune to a newspaper!" he shouts to Rothschild. "Hell, I'll buy it!"

(From (#258) Albatross D.Va) Erwin doesn't get very far when another explosion covers him with fuel. He reaches for his pistol… and pulls the trigger.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins goes straight at the enemy plane, squeezing off a shot just as the Albatross does. He cries out as his hand takes a bullet, and the plane dips for a moment before he rights it.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston is rather glad that isn't -his- plane in flames, despite a twinge of guilt that it is another human beings. His attention pulls to Higgins at the cry. "You alright, mate!?"

<> (#258) Albatross D.Va has been destroyed!

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild is grinning in thrilled disbelief, nodding to Dangerfield. "I got it," he replies, breathlessly. "That'd make me a mint back in Trenton." He doesn't have much time to enjoy it, though, what with all the shooting going on around him. He hears, rather than sees, the other Albatross go down. "Your buddies are quite the marksmen," he says, admiringly.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins gets his bearings and looks around for the other Albatross. When he sees it also going down in flames, he assumes Johnston got it. "Nicely done, mate," he says through gritted teeth. "I'll be all right." Gah, that hurts like hell. He clutches his badly injured hand to his chest.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield has turned the plane about again and is now heading home, for Belleau. That's going to be one long, agonizing flight. He's fumbling with his hand over his chest, having pulled out a field-bandage to press against it. "Lord, Higgins and Johnson did mincemeat of them! They sure are!" he agrees with Rothschild. "And now we're going home, back to dear old Lucy."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins brings the plane around once again to catch up with Dangerfield. Fortunately one he's leveled off it's easy enough to fly one-handed. He even takes a moment to brace the stick between his knees so he can wrap a handkerchief around his hand.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild mutters "Home sweet home," under his breath, taking a deep breath. The adrenaline is keeping the worst of the pain at bay, but that's not going to last. "You're going to be fine, pal," he says encouragingly to the pilot. Hopefully, that's true. "That was a hell of a flying job." The 'hell' part is literal.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston must be the only one that isn't hit, lucky bastard.
Bristol Type 22

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins comes up along side of the other Bristol and waggles his wings slightly to see if they're all right.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild wraps a field bandage around his right shoulder, to stem the bleeding. Oh, he's peachy.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield has to use both hands to fly the Bristol but his hands aren't badly off. "Oh, not really!" he shouts back. "That German was much better!" He even laughs, after that, which he immediately regrets; he moans loudly right after it. "Remind me not to laugh." He doesn't dare do any wing-tipping right now, instead he raises an arm and waves a bit to Higgins to show he's still alive.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston sees the resulting answers from the other plane, and leans forward to call to Higgins, "Best stay with those boys. They don't look to be in top form." That said, he tosses off a smile to the other fighters. At least they get to fly home.

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins would wave back but for his hand. He cuts power to try and keep pace with them, but still manages to outdistance them. So he circles back around again, grimacing at the throbbing in his hand.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild lays his head back on his seat, focusing his eyes on the landscape outside the plane. "This is a hell of a lot different than Wells, I'll say that," he says, taking deep breaths. "I think we got some photographs that brass can use. That's something." He actually smiles. "That was almost like working back home. Apart from being thousands of feet up, with bullets flying all around you." Apart from that.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield wipes some sweat off his eyes. He's sweating, despite the strong winds up here. "Isn't it nice to use your work skills in war?" he shouts back, somewhat ironically but without any ill intent.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild smirks, chuckling in a pained sort of way. "This'll come in handy on my resume back home, I'm sure," he says sarcastically. Just to keep talking, he asks, "What'd you do back in England, Dangerfield?"

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins calls back over his shoulder, "Not too bad for your first time on the continent."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Johnston laughs, leaning back in his seat as the danger is over. This time. "Results're a bit different from home, though."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins casts a glance at his hand and agrees, "Indeed. Where did you fly before?"

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild gets a chuckle out of that, himself. The shot in the arm doesn't prevent his laughing. "Now that sounds like a damn fine occupation," he says with a smirk. "I was in the newspaper business, myself. Worked for a paper called The Trentonian. Although they only paid me enough to enjoy the more dubious theaters."

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield lets out a little sigh. "Now that, my chum, sounds like worthy work. When you come back home, you should write a book about all this. Make people see how it really was," he suggests, turning more serious. He blinks and grinds his teeth together. The front of his uniform is slowly being soaked in blood.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild shrugs. Which -is- pretty damn painful with a shot-up shoulder. He does some swearing, like the trained Marine that he is. "I'm not sure if there's anything of this place I want to put down on paper," he says. "It's funny. I haven't been able to write a damn thing in a couple months, except letters to the folks back home. Not since that mess in the woods…" He blinks, turning his head to take in the countryside below. "Damn right we are."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins sees the familiar shapes of Belleau in the distance and nods his head in that direction. "Nearly there."

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield is feeling better with the hope of returning home safely. "That's a shame, Rothschild. I never write a thing, myself, except bad poetry to women who don't deserve it."

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild smirks. "I've done a little of that myself," he replies with a wry, bitter laugh. "Managed to drive away two fiancees with lousy couplets." He shifts his shoulder, wincing. He's also feeling a little better, now that he's starting to think, maybe, he won't die a fiery death today.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield coughs out a chuckle. "Really? Thanks for the tips! If I ever want to break up with a lady, I'll write her some heinous poetry." He can see the airfield faintly off in the distance now. "Hawk is going to go crazy, now! He'd just repaired this plane and now he'll have to start all over."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins smiles a bit as he sees the airfield in the distance. He starts to bring the plane down, but doesn't approach for a landing. He's waiting until the more damaged plane makes it.

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Rothschild laughs. "Works every time," he says, squinting at the airfield. "Hawk?" That makes him chuckle some more. "That's a hell of a name for an airman."

(From (#1749) Bristol Type 22) Dangerfield grins. "Not as good as his dog. Dog's called Pilot." He's already flying low and has since quite awhile back. Airfield's coming close enough for landing, soon. "Alright, hold on to something again. Might be a rough landing."

(From (#1751) Bristol Type 22) Higgins watches the other plane descend with mild concern. "Hope he can get that crate down in one piece," he says to Johnston.

Airfield

A hardpacked road winds its way off in the distance. It's large enough to allow two vehicles to pass each other on it as long as there's nobody turning a corner sharply. Mostly used by horses and wagons, it has lately seen much other traffic in the form of trucks and the road is beginning to show signs of wear and tear.
It is currently daytime.

…and brings it in for a landing. (the rest of Higgins' pose)

Dangerfield does get the plane down in mostly one piece. A part of the wing is torn lose just as the wheels touch down. The engine is coughing and hacking, smoke coming out of it. And it is a very rough landing, the plane bouncing once before settling down and rolling across the field. "Well, wasn't that a grand adventure, Rothschild. I'd do it again any day, with you!" The plane comes to a halt and Dangerfield slumps in the seat… losing consciousness.

Kathleen stands on the edge of the airfield, a hand shielding her eyes as she watches the planes come in. She sucks in a breath when the first Bristol has a bit of a rocky landing, looking worried.

Rothschild just sits for a moment when the plane touches down, sweaty and shaky and pale, not to mention bleeding pretty steadily from his right shoulder. Flying isn't all it's cracked up to be. "Same to you, pal," he says weakly, a shaky grin spreading across his face. He sort of means it, too. When Dangerfield slumps forward he sits up, calling out, "Medic!"

Josephine comes jogging towards the field and the planes, the rumour of possibly wounded pilots and airmen having reached hers and other medical staff's ears. She carries her firstaid kit and she homes in on the other nurse, to start with. "Looks like some of them are walking on their own," she says in her broken but well-spoken English. "I'll handle those if you take care of the unconscious one?"

Hicks is leaning against one of the fully functioning aircrafts, watching the two Bristols come in for a landing, and it doesn't look like he will move anywhere before the bleeding people are carried away, mutetring to himself. "Bastards, I just got finished fixing those ones. And that one, it looks worse than before. Bastards, don't they think I have anything better to do with my time."

Pat stands next to Hicks, arms crossed as he regards the battered aircraft, "Swear to god them flyboys think airplanes grow on trees" he mutters, casually puffing on his pipe, "Kinda makes me wish we could force them to service those things themselves while we sit in the officer's club an get drunk"

Kathleen doesn't seem to hear Josephine's suggestion. Which is odd, because normally she's quite the dutiful nurse. Her eyes are locked on the pilot of the second plane - Higgins - as he gets out. She immediately rushes over to him, calling his name, "Jack? Are you all right?" Seeing the blood-soaked handkerchief wrapped around his hand, she gasps.

Dangerfield remains slumped in the seat, blissfully unconscious.

Rothschild climbs out of the plane, under his own power. His legs are still in a non-shot-up state. They're pretty shaky, though. For a moment, all he does is stand on the ground, leaning on the plane, and savor the feeling of being back on land.

Josephine gapes a bit at Kathleen. But she's not dimwitted and realizes quickly that KAthleen knows Higgins. "Nurse Kathleen!" she calls out, worried. She runs after her and puts a hand on her arm. "I will tend to this pilot. The pilot still in the plane needs you now though. You are more experienced than me."

"Bloody nurses, running around without doing anything." Hicks continues his mutter, but now walking over to the plane Dangerfield is messing up, watching the broken wings before he starts pulling on a few things here and there. "Shot to crap, all of it, set it on fire and be over with it."

Pat yawns, tapping his pipe out as he moves to join Hicks, moving to the front of the aircraft, "Engine's been shot to hell an back….. leakin oil… probably woulda overheat if it kept goin another twenty minutes" he mutters, reaching into the engine cowling to fiddle with a torn oil line.

Higgins shakes his head to Kathleen. "I'm fine, luv," he assures her. "Just a scratch." Though the quantity of blood belies that statement, as does the barely-concealed pained grimace on his face. But he nevertheless gives Kathleen an quick one-armed hug and nods to Josephine. "You look after Dangerfield. Go on, then." His own plane doesn't appear to be too badly damaged.

Rothschild looks up at Hicks. "You must be Hawk," he mutters to the mechanic. "Your pilot said you'd be all out of sorts at the state of the plane. After what he went through out there, you're lucky it's in such good shape. Your friend's worse off."

Kathleen reluctantly nods to Josephine, the worry still evident on her face. "All right, then. But please take good care of him." She heads over to check on Dangerfield, passing the bleeding Rothschild on the way. She blinks a bit, "Private Rothschild. I didn't know you'd become an airman." She notes the blood, but Dangerfield seems worse off so she goes to him first.

Dangerfield stirrs now and he actually wakes up, turning his head to home in on the voice of Hicks. "Hawk," he says coarsely. "I believe this plane's a bit shot up. Nothing you can't fix though." He begins to actually crawl out of the plane, on his own. "I'm alright! It's nothing, really. Just a flesh wound." Blood-slick hands fumble for purchase. "Ahh, there we go, Rothschild. The lovely nurse is here now. A sight for sore eyes."

Josephine gives Kathleen a reassuring smile. "I will," she promises. She turns to Higgins, already bringing out bandages from her kit. "Please, sit down for a bit, Sir. I will dress the wound and then we will take you to the hospital so you can rest properly."

Rothschild chuckles, wry and pained, shaking his head at Kathleen. "A bit of temporary insanity on my part is all, Nurse Campbell," he says, moving to assist Dangerfield with his crawling.

Hicks nods to Dangerfield, "It will be ready to fly when you get out, shouldn't take too long, should it?" He turns to stare at Rothschild while pulling off some more of the wing. "See? He'll be fine, this plane will be fine and we can all spend our days swooing over pilots instead. Life's great."

Higgins has been cradling his bleeding hand across his chest. After sitting down he straightens it so Josephine can have a look at it. Once Kathleen is away, the pain shows through a bit more on his face. He grimaces. "Thought I could get him before he could get a shot off," he murmurs. "Is it bad?"

Josephine cleans the hand off as gently as she can, frowning in concentration. "It is not good," she says, not about to lie to him. "It might heal just fine, but there is a risk you will get… limited movement. We will have to wait and see. Be careful with it and it will enhance the chances of full recovery." She smiles warmly at him, after that. "You will not lose the hand though and no fingers either."

Pat rolls his eyes at Hicks, "Yep, nurses swoon over the gallant pilots who putter around in these little planes.. be a real tradgedy if one had to limp back with a bad engine… wouldn't it?" he snickers, muttering as an oil line snaps, dribbling warm black liquid down his chest.

Kathleen offers Rothschild a slight smile before going to help Dangerfield out of the cockpit. "I didn't think I'd see you back so soon, Mister Dangerfield," she says a bit reproachfully. Noting the condition of his plane, she says, "Mercy, I'm amazed you managed to fly that home." She catches bits and pieces of the conversation between Pat and Hicks, and her cheeks redden a bit.

Higgins is relieved by Josephine's words. "Thank you, miss. I'll do whatever you say is best." He winces as she cleans the wound, trying his best to maintain that stiff upper lip. But it's hard when your hand feels like it's on fire. Noting her accent, he wonders, "Are you French, miss?"

Hicks nods to Pat, "One of the pilots complained about his seat being uncomfortable" He rolls his eyes, "I fixed it up good and proper for him though. He'll have a real nice ride next time he flies." He starts to laugh while he dives in under the wing to see how things look from there.

Dangerfield listens with some contentness to Hicks and Pat. He's truly back home and not dreaming; he knows because of those two, if nothing else. "Ahh, lovely, lovely…" He drifts off, too dizzy to finish it with much coherency. "I would not have flew it home at all if not for Higgins and Johnston. Splendid fellows, splendid," he says and finally gets out of the plane, onto the ground. "And I would so much miss your lovely face, Nurse, I made sure I got shot again. Now Rothschild and I get to spend time with your lovely self."

"It was quite a piece of work, Nurse," Rothschild says. "He got that contraption, and the two of us, back with that hole in his chest." He sounds amazed. And damn grateful. He still can't believe he missed that fiery death. He looks pretty dizzy, himself.

Pat listens to Dangerfield's shpeel, rolling his eyes in Hicks's direction, "See what I mean?" he mutters, "How bout we replace their soft cushy seats with nice cold metal ones that are too small? And we can take out their seat belts…." he laughs, motioning for the other mechanics to bring the tools.

Josephine is now wrapping the dressings around Higgins' hand, with controlled and professional actions. "Would you like some morphine?" she asks, noticing the signs of his pain. "And yes, I am French. I come from Arras, which is northwest of here. I was just transferred because of… I wasn't actually told, but I got the feeling they…" She doesn't finish the sentence, closing her lips tightly.

"Well I'm glad you all made it home safely," Kathleen says, her smile widening at the compliment to Higgins. "Now, let's have a look at you." She peels back the fabric of his jacket to examine the wound beneath, applying pressure to try to stop the bleeding. She says wryly, "You know you don't have to get yourself shot up to talk to the nurses. Just ask Private Rothschild."

"How the hell did you manage to get a bullet hole here?" Hicks asks no one from his position under the plane. "What the hell have you been up to? Does anyone have some matches, I'll put it out of it misery." he threatens, "I'm getting my first bath in ages under here."

Higgins nods, a bead of sweat breaking out beneath his mustache. "If it isn't too much trouble, miss," he says to the morphine. Trying to take his mind off the pain, he continues to chat. "We've just come from Arras ourselves, actually. Come down to help out the Yanks, I hear."

Josephine raises eyebrows. "You did?" she says and smiles broadly. "Then we must talk about Arras, later. Now, come to the medic station." A syringe is brought out and morphine given to Higgins, to relieve some of his pain.

"I'd like that, miss," Higgins says politely. He dutifully follows Josephine over to the med station, and isn't much good for conversation after the morphine dulls his senses. But at least he's not feeling the pain.

Dangerfield sighs happily when hearing Hicks. "It wasn't easy," he calls out. "It took a very special maneuver to get a bullet hole there; I've been practicing on it." He turns his head around to locate Rothschild. "I'll see you at the medic station. Pardon me, but I think I need to… rest a bit again." A charming, rascally smile is given to Kathleen before he passes out again.